


Just Passing Through

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Schitt's Creek
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Doesn't Do That Anymore, Gen, Mistaken Identity, Rose Apothecary (Schitt's Creek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27772060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: “No—I don’t—no. Shut up. He’s not from around here and he is clearly homeless.” Now was so not the time for Patrick to give him shit. Read the room.“Oh. Like you were homeless once, you mean.” His smile was so condescending.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 71





	Just Passing Through

**Author's Note:**

> I've really come to love the Into a Bar crossover challenge, and came up with a couple ideas for possible fandom assignments this year, one of which I didn't get to use. So I thought for my annual tradition of posting fic on my birthday, I'd make use of one of the ideas, where Bucky Barnes meets David and Patrick from Schitt's Creek.

David Rose was alone on the floor helping the only customer they’d had so far that day when the handsome homeless guy came in to the shop. Lovely spring Saturdays in Schitt’s Creek usually meant slow shop traffic, because everyone was out picnicking or biking or baby-strollering or some other healthy, inane thing. He glanced up from showing Marie the new royal jelly face cream, expecting to see someone he recognized, but instead saw someone he immediately assumed would pull a gun and tell him to clean the register the instant Marie left.

He should probably call Patrick out from the back room, David thought, because this guy just radiated bad energy: beat-up army jacket, gloves on his hands even though it was probably a good 70 degrees out, black ballcap pulled low, discount-store denim over worn combat boots, and long hair, like it was still the ’90s and he was on VH-1. Everything about him was distressed—but not fashionably so, and that included his face. He was good-looking, yes, but also had the appearance of someone who might have lost his goldfish or something. 

Touching Marie’s arm so she didn’t think he was abandoning her, David called over to the new customer, as friendly as he could, “Feel free to look around. If there’s anything you need help with, just let me know.” But he didn’t really mean it—with any luck, the guy might realize he’d made a huge error in his choice of place to rob and turn right around. Marie must have been a little flustered by the guy too, the way she kept staring at him, all goggle-eyed—sure, she was man-hungry, but was she desperate enough to entertain thoughts of a homeless guy who probably bought his clothing by the pound at Goodwill? 

Watching him touch the products with his dirty gloved hands was stressing David out, so he subtly steered Marie toward the register and offered to throw in a lip balm from the same vendor if she bought the cream _right now_ and left. Her eyes lit up with avarice for free gifts instead of lust for Hottie Hobo.

As soon as he’d waved her out the door, he turned to the guy. “Is there anything special you’re looking for?” he asked in what he hoped would convey the appropriate tone of encouragement not to linger and shop. “Everything’s locally sourced or imported by a local small business, just FYI. I’m David Rose, the owner.” Ugh, up close, the guy was just gorgeous, despite carelessly maintained stubble (the best setting on the razor should be 3, not three weeks, David thought disdainfully) and the plentiful split ends of his dark brown hair. He held himself tensely, nervously, though what he could be worried about was beyond David—he was built like a truck and his upper arms and shoulders, even under the jacket, looked like they could snap David in half. 

“I just”—his throat sounded scratchy and he cleared it—“I saw your shop when I was at the cafe, and thought I’d see what you had.” His eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but directly at David, like _that_ wasn’t totally shifty.

“Well, this area is all…uh, skin care,” David said, waving his hand at the nearest table and trying to not make a pointed glance at the guy’s face, “and over there is body care, and then housewares are there and in the alcove on the left. Food and wine over here.” He waved at some of the produce and herbs, the refrigerator case, and Homeless Hottie became more animated.

“That’s great. The 7-Eleven is getting old,” he said, and oh fuck, his shy little smile was swoon-worthy and Patrick better get out here right now. David would bet his favorite Thom Browne sweater that this guy used that smile to disarm sales clerks all over the state right before he cleaned them out. 

“Oh, are you staying in town…or something?”

He looked like David had punched him. How weird. “Sort of. At, uh, a friend’s cabin near the lake.” Nice and vague, the way a thief would say it. 

He saw Patrick stepping through the curtains with an armful of product, so David said, “Well, like I said, look around and let me know if you need help.” Like he wasn’t going to keep his eyes trained on the guy every second he stayed in here. “There’s baskets behind you.”

Putting his hands in his pockets ( _so_ weird; nothing said criminal more loudly than wearing gloves in warm weather), he nodded and began moseying around the tables, pretending like he was really interested in Rose Apothecary merchandise. David hustled over to Patrick before he could greet the guy himself with his cute, perky little face and probably get knifed right in the guts. 

“I didn’t know we had another customer,” Patrick said.

“Don’t restock right now,” David practically hissed. “That guy is going to try to rob us.”

“What—why would he rob us?” Patrick said, confused. “What did he do to make you think that? Is that why you’re not helping him?”

“Just look at the way he’s dressed!” David said, low. “That’s how a robber dresses.”

“Was that how the guy who robbed us before was dressed?” Patrick asked, deliberately obtuse. 

David only narrowed his eyes. “You should be taking this seriously. He’s wearing gloves _in springtime._ He’s shady. Really cute, but shady.”

“I’ll grant you the cute part. Is he looking for something in particular? Was he trying to distract you so he could stuff those ample pockets?”

“No—I don’t—no. Shut up. He’s not from around here and he is clearly homeless.” Now was so not the time for Patrick to give him shit. Read the room.

“Oh. Like you were homeless once, you mean.” His smile was so condescending.

David scowled. “Even when we came here, I would never have worn jeans from Target.”

“Oooohhh, _that’s_ what gives his nefarious intentions away. The label on his denim.” 

They watched as the guy moved toward the housewares alcove, the perfect place not to be observed. David almost growled.

Patrick pretended not to check the hobo out while he restocked the shelves by the counter. Yet David caught the way his eyes were trained on Hottie’s butt before he disappeared around the corner. It figured—the cheap denim made him more attractive to Patrick. Like recognized like.

He was so focused on trying to see what the guy was doing in the alcove that he almost didn’t notice when Patrick went very tense, sidestepping over next to David. He was utterly blanched, which was saying something since many of David’s friends in New York had been devotees of Korean skin whitening creams.

His hand lifted, and David realized it was shaking slightly, then Patrick pointed toward the hobo. “David, that’s not a hot homeless guy.” His voice was alarmingly wispy and he was trembling. 

Oh god. Patrick had never ever looked like that since David had known him. “What? _What? WHAT?_ ” he demanded, clutching Patrick’s little biceps.

“That’s the Winter Soldier.”

Patrick’s fear was making David’s heart race. “What does that mean? Is that like some sports…ball…thing? What does that mean? Oh my god. Tell me!”

“David, you’ve gotta fucking calm down.”

“Me? You started it! You freaked out first!” He was trying not to raise his voice but Patrick was winding him up with anxiety, like telling David to calm down would calm himself. “What is a winter soldier?”

“Remember a while ago when Captain America got attacked in DC? The Nazi holdovers from World War 2? The Winter Soldier was the one who led that attack. He’s an assassin, he’s killed hundreds of people.”

Maaaybe he’d heard something like that, but he sure didn’t remember any details. Why would he? That wasn’t normally the kind of scene David was into. “It might escape your notice, but we lost everything and ended up living in a cheap motel around that time. Nazi assassins were the least of my concerns.” He waved his hands in the air. But there was a killer in their store. “Oh my god. Oh my god. What are we gonna do? If he knows we know, he’ll have to kill us too!”

“David, he didn’t kill Captain America. There’s no ‘too’ as far as I know.” Now that David was upset, Patrick decided he was all super casual about it. Well, fuck that. But Patrick took hold of David’s arm and steered him behind the curtain. “But I don’t know why he’s here. Maybe he’s on the run. He disappeared after the attacks.”

“Don’t you play calmer than thou with me. Should we call the police? My god, the bumpkins in this burg are not capable of taking on a winter soldier, are they?” What did that name even mean? It was ridiculous. He wasn’t even wearing soldiery fatigues, let alone cold-weather gear.

“And get more people killed?”

“I don’t know!” He waved his hands.

All of a sudden David heard a throat being cleared, and he and Patrick turned and screamed at the same time. The murderer was standing right behind them, at the counter. He set a bunch of items down: some of the best cheeses and cured meats, snack stuff, the good craft beers and a nice bottle of wine. All the best charcuterie and booze to steal. 

“Uh…I should probably let you know that I can hear everything you’re saying.” Even though his eyes were somewhat shaded by the bill of his cap, you could see they were sad and irritatingly pretty. A criminal with criminal eyelashes. 

David and Patrick didn’t move but glanced sideways at each other. If he was an assassin, he wouldn’t want to leave anyone alive who could identify him, would he? “O-oh, I’m sorry.” Patrick, at least, managed to form words. “I—we—really didn’t—you know, it’s okay. We won’t say anything. I swear.”

David hastily threw everything into their best reusable bag. Instead of taking the bag, Murder Boy reached into his jacket for a gun and David shrieked, throwing his hands in the air. Patrick scowled at David before putting his hands up, too.

“What—what are you doing?” the killer asked in a shaky voice, pulling his hand out of his jacket. With a wallet in it. He stared at Patrick and David, and they stared at him, and it was really really quiet in here and why was it suddenly so damn _hot_? Time stretched out for approximately a couple years. Eventually, the assassin spoke. “I’m not trying to rob or kill you.”

“No, no, of course not,” Patrick said in his best soothing voice that did nothing to soothe David’s panic at all.

“No, really, I don’t do that anymore.” He shook his head. Oh lord, he looked like he might cry. “I mean, I never really did, not when I wasn’t under someone else’s control. I just wanted to buy some nice stuff to eat, like I said.”

Patrick lowered his arms slowly. “We didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”

“For the record, I am _not_ the one who knew your identity, so your secret is safe with me,” David said, waving his hand over the products. “Consider these a gift and we’ll just pretend you were never here if anyone asks.”

The Soldier Boy closed his eyes for a moment, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It wasn’t the first time David had seen that look. Then he opened the wallet and handed David a wad of bills; David remembered he still had his hands in the air and jerked them down. “Will this cover it?”

“Oh.” He should really ring him up, if he was offering actual cash.

While David was making his change, Patrick, because he was a sweet idiot, extended his hand. “I’m really sorry. I thought…well, you know. I didn’t know you were… I’m Patrick Brewer. This is David Rose.”

“Bucky Barnes.” He shrugged, then shook Patrick’s hand. “It comes with the territory. For the record, Captain America is the one who arranged for me to stay at the cabin. He stayed here when he first came back, said it helped him get his head on straight. So he thought I might get some benefit from it, too.”

“Bucky Barnes? Like, _the_ Bucky Barnes?” Patrick asked. “You were Steve Rogers’s best friend.”

“Would you stop that?” David whispered, peeved, turning away from the assassin. “I don’t know who these people are!”

But it seemed to make Winter…Bucky…whoever chuckle. “Yeah. Steve’s people all know about me. You don’t have to worry.”

 _Who’s Steve?_ For fuck’s sake. He was in no condition for this kind of confusion. His head felt light and his heart was still racing. 

“So Steve Rogers has a cabin in Schitt’s Creek?” This appeared to delight Patrick.

Barnes put the change in his wallet and stuck the wallet back in his jacket, and David tried to peek inside to see if he had a gun or a knife in there. He might just be buttering them up before the kill. “It belongs to a friend of his, I guess. North of the lake.”

“It’s nice up there.” 

“And this is a nice shop. When he comes by for a visit, if you want, I could bring him in.” He smiled sheepishly. 

“Oh, man, that’d be so cool.”

 _Oh, keep it in your pants, fanboy,_ David thought, glaring at Patrick, who laughed. There would be words about this tonight.

“Or, you know, let us know when he’s here and maybe you can join us for dinner.” 

“What the actual fuck,” David muttered under his breath, and Patrick shot him A Look.

Barnes glanced between them, thinking something that made him almost smile. Both he and Patrick were acting like nothing horrible had happened in the past half hour. So gross.

“That’d be nice. Steve would like that, I’m sure.” He grabbed the bag and turned to go. “It was nice to meet you both. I’ll see you around.”

As soon as he went past the corner and was totally out of sight, David rounded on Patrick. “Did you just invite a deadly assassin to have dinner with us sometime? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m practically having a seizure from the trauma this has put me through!”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “You look just fine to me. When he started talking, I remembered more of his story, and it’s pretty awful.” Patrick proceeded to horrify him with the whole sordid tale, which he supposed was all right since they didn’t have any customers. About being a war hero with Captain America and falling to what people thought was his death and being tortured and brainwashed and ordered to kill. So okay, he had to admit, it was grim. Really grim. “Now, tell me you don’t want to just park him on the sofa in a slanket and feed him soup.”

“He is cute and confused. You know that’s my weakness.” David closed his eyes and shook his head a little. “I guess I could see feeding him some soup, as long as it comes from the cafe and not store stock. Take care of him a little.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Patrick asked coyly.

“Only if it’s working,” David responded tartly. 

Patrick put his arms around David. He wondered if this whole escapade would have turned out so well if Patrick hadn’t been some creepy Captain America stan. Everyone had their strengths. “Oh yeah, it’s working.”

**Author's Note:**

> [On tumblr, if you'd like to reblog.](https://teatotally.tumblr.com/post/636236103667613696/fic-just-passing-through)
> 
> The cabin Bucky refers to is referenced by Coulson in an early episode of Agents of SHIELD, where he [claims Steve went after he was unfrozen](https://marvelcinematicuniverse.fandom.com/wiki/Retreat), supposedly a retreat for gifted individuals.


End file.
